


Strays

by abblepie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Footnotes, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i don't know just being careful, rating it as teen because there are swears?, there's a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abblepie/pseuds/abblepie
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale become reluctant godfathers to a cat. Crowley isnothappy about this, thank you very much.-This is so fluffy I can't even stand it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've just about finished this, I just need to edit and format the rest of it. I'm probably going to post one 'chapter' a day, with it ending up at around 5000/6000 words. That seems like a lot of words for a story about a cat, but it's what's happened, so I hope somebody out there enjoys it. I currently have it at about 4 chapters, but it may potentially get longer. We'll see.
> 
> (Edit: it’s done. I just now realized the difference between work notes and chapter notes, but I shan’t be fixing it here. Maybe in the future I’ll learn. Pip pip.)
> 
> How am I meant to tag a story about a cat? I don't know. Is she an original character? Who could say. She is just a little creature. She cannot change this.
> 
> Enjoy! Let me know if anyone enjoys this content as much as I enjoy writing it, or if I should spend my time on more profitable pursuits, like marrying rich and then dramatically grieving my partner's mysterious death.

Crowley bumped the door of A. Z. Fell and Co. open with his hip, little shop bell singing as he did so. His hands were occupied and his vision obscured by the pile of books he was cradling in his arms. He made it barely a meter into the shop and was about to call for his angel when he kicked something. Craning his neck, he took a look. Somebody had left a box of blankets or something right in the middle of the floor. It was a serious hazard[1]. That wasn’t the most troubling thing about this situation, though.

No. The box had _mewled_ at him.

Crowley gaped at it, shifting around it in as wide an arch as he could manage as he tried to get further into the shop. He only succeeded in ramming his lower back into particularly violent reading table, letting out a low hissing curse.

“Language, dear!” Aziraphale’s light voice drifted from somewhere back in the stacks.

Crowley looked for somewhere to put the books down. “Er. Angel?”

“Yes, my love?” he called innocently. _Too_ innocently. He was still nowhere to be seen.

Crowley decided that the table would be strong enough to hold the tombs in his arms. The table agreed amiably and didn’t so much as tremble as he sloughed them from his arms.“What… is this?”

His angel tutted from some hidden nook. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. There are many objects in this shop.”

“The box, the box with the…” Crowley crouched down cautiously, lifting the cardboard flap to get a better look.

Two bright yellow eyes stared up at him. Then, with only a tiny hiss as a warning, the creature slashed out at Crowley’s hand.

“Hackgh!” Crowley said, too surprised to think of a decent swear. He put his finger in his mouth; it stung just a bit. “It attacked me!”

"Really, now, dear,” Aziraphale tutted, finally coming out onto the main floor of the shop. He had his little gold rimmed reading glasses, and if Crowley wasn’t so irritated by their unexpected guest, he would have admitted that he found them quite fetching. “There’s no need to be so hostile.”

“Hostile!” Crowley spat indignantly. The angel patted his arm gently and placed a kiss on the demon’s cheek. All the pain from Crowley’s cut disappeared. His temper was still simmering, though. “I haven’t done anything!”

Aziraphale shot him a puzzled look, then bent down and reached into the box. “I wasn’t talking to you, my love.”

“Oh,” Crowley said brilliantly, watching as Aziraphale scooped a… a kitten, out of the box. It was tiny, small enough to fit comfortably between Aziraphale’s hands, with long fluffy black fur and those owlish yellow eyes. It mewled at Crowley irritably, then clambered up onto his angel’s shoulder and perched there. Aziraphale just _let_ it.

“Crowley, meet Jophiel.” He watched the demon’s face closely.

Crowley grimaced. “Jophiel, _really?_ ” Named after a bloody archangel?

Aziraphale made a thoughtful noise, then shook his head slightly. “No, not really. Just trying to catch your reaction.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Wut?”

Aziraphale shrugged. The kitten clung onto his jumper with its little claws, otherwise unbothered by the motion. It was trying to leverage its vantage point to the top of the angel’s head, in fact. “I’m still trying to figure out what the J stands for.”

Despite himself, Crowley laughed brightly, before remembering that he was trying to be irritated. He scowled.

Aziraphale smiled, one of those bright smiles that made Crowley’s heart melt[2]. “No, I actually haven’t named her yet. I was hoping you would help me pick one out for her.” He reached up, gently coaxing the kitten from his curls and bringing it down to his chest. It settled down right between his forearm and his jumper, tail twitching. Crowley could hear it purring from here. Disgusting.

“Eh, I don’t think so, angel. Creatures and I don’t really…” He made a wiggly motion with his hands, crunching his shoulders up. “ _Jive_.” He sauntered over to his armchair, slumping into it with the kind of nonchalance that took years of practice. “How long’s that thing gonna be here, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m not entirely sure,” Aziraphale mused in his far off way that usually spelled trouble. “A decade or two?”

Crowley choked on a spot of particularly thick air. “Hacghk. _Twenty years?_ ”

Aziraphale shrugged, leaning slightly against one of the sturdier bookshelves[3]. “That’s how long they can live, my love.” He frowned slightly. “You know, I was hoping that you’d take a little better to her. You _did_ do all that work with the cat videos on the… what’s it called? The World Wide Web?”

Crowley gaped. “ _My_ work? I thought _your_ lot made those up.”

The two occultish beings looked at each other, then shrugged.

“Anyways,” Crowley pushed on, “It’s not so much that _I_ don’t like those creatures. _They_ can’t seem to stand _me_.”

“Well,” Airaphale said primly, walking back towards his office with the parasitic little creature still cradled in his arms. “I suppose you two will just have to figure that out, won’t you? No need to rush these sorts of things.” And the angel was gone again, calling over his shoulder, “Dinner at 9, don’t forget.”

Crowley only huffed in response, squirming a bit in his chair. He pulled his phone out, intending to scroll through it and maybe post a few flaming comments on choice Facebook posts[4] to burn some time and energy before their date. Unfortunately, the first thing that popped up was some blasted video of a cat chasing a laser or something. It was not, as Lorie something-or-other commented under the video, _‘So cute!_ ’ It was downright _offensive_.

Crowley scowled up at the ceiling, tossing his phone across the room. This would not do. It would not do at all.

**\-----**

_Footnotes_

1 Okay, the whole place was a serious hazard. What with the precariously piled books and the mysterious liquids that oozed up from the floor boards under any individual that seemed a little _too_ interested in one of Aziraphale’s books, the box was probably the least of their concerns.[return to text]

2 Well, perhaps they all made Crowley’s heart melt. Now hush up about it.[return to text]

3 Since the Anti-Pocalypse, Aziraphale had seemed a bit more relaxed in general, even slouching about ever so slightly on occasion. Crowley prided himself with the idea that he’d had something to do with it; perhaps he was rubbing off on the angel after all.[return to text]

4 Crowley hadn’t actually invented ‘trolling,’ but he certainly did enjoy partaking in it.[return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The footnotes are approaching 1/3 of my word total, but I regret nothing.
> 
> I've also formatted them so there shouldn't be a problem using them even if you're viewing the full work. So go crazy.

Crowley and Aziraphale had always been there for each other, in retrospect. Even in the beginning, when they would argue and discorporate each other, there was a sort of comradery to it. After that stage passed, they fell into the Arrangement which was, in Crowley’s opinion, more enjoyable[1]. They would meet up a few times every century, maybe, business blending into easy rapport, shifting into stolen dinners and passing conversations. Hovering over the angel’s shoulders at crowded carnivals or plays or, as with one very awkward and inefficient meeting, in the audience of a silent film. 

Still, it had been different before[2]. While the demon had fallen into a comfortable sort of pattern with the angel over the centuries -- one that had bred a certain level of trust -- they’d never felt _close_. Certainly not physically, what with the constant fear of surveillance hanging over each of them -- especially the angel. And emotionally? Well. If, out of the two of them, we consider the demon to be most emotionally intelligent, they could have spent another 6000 years dancing around each other like binary stars. And if it had been the angel? That didn’t bear thinking about.

There was an Understanding -- one that the angel had refused to acknowledge, insisting that it was all under the umbrella of the Arrangement, which, really, was nothing serious enough to even _warrant_ sub-sections, and _do stop giving me that pitiful look, dear boy._ But the Understanding was very clear to Crowley, and he had believed[3], for a few thousand years, that they truly had been on _their_ side.

That made this betrayal all the more devastating.

Crowley scowled from his slouchy throne in the bookshop, legs thrown over the arm of his favorite chair as he waited for the angel to get ready. They were heading out to a picnic in a few minutes, and Crowley had promised to play nice with the monster while Aziraphale finished packing.

If by _playing nice_ the angel meant _resisting the urge to punt the thing out of the front door and lock it behind,_ then Crowley was certainly playing nice.

The thing came over to him, its little tail wiggling behind it as it bounced. It wasn’t used to its legs yet, it seemed. Crowley sneered. Daft thing couldn’t even walk properly[4].

It was coming right up to him now. The thing stumbled on the edge of the rug as its claw got stuck, flopping over only to bounce right back up, mewling. Crowley tensed, pulling his legs and arms in on himself. The thing started to clamber up the fabric of the chair and was, horrifyingly, finding a great deal of success in that endeavor.

“Angel!” Crowley hissed, scrambling up onto the back of the chair[5] as the creature set up camp in _his_ spot.

“Yes, love?”

Aziraphale stepped into the room and, despite the horrifying events unfolding below him, Crowley couldn’t help but drink him in.

The angel was holding a woven basket neatly in front of him. He had on a soft, pastel blue jumper over a beige dress shirt, with a little bow tie tucked neatly beneath his chin. A curly lock slipped from behind his ear[6], and he delicately set it back in place with one hand. He raised his eyebrows, observing Crowley with much more amusement than surprise or actual concern.

Crowley had completely lost his train of thought, but it came screeching back into the station as the creature started working its way onto the back of the chair with the demon.

“It’s _hunting_ me!” he wailed, jumping off the back of the chair and running over to his angel. He grabbed his arm, pulling him close. And if, when he hissed at the creature, his forked tongue stuck out, that was really nobody’s business.

He could practically _feel_ Aziraphale roll his eyes. “Honestly,” he huffed, not unkindly. The angel shifted the picnic basket into the demon’s arms, then walked over to the kitten and scooped it up.

“There you are,” he cooed, fixing it with a look that was equal parts gentle and stern. “Would you like to come on a picnic, dear?”

Crowley prickled. “It can’t come on a picnic!”

Aziraphale didn’t even look at him, although his lips quirked up slightly. “Why not? She’s a perfectly contained being. Surely she can handle a bit of outdoor time.”

Crowley didn’t have the time or the patience to list the many ways in which Aziraphale was wrong, but he was going to anyway. “It’s a baby! And it’s the middle of London, for goodness’ sake. Bleaugh!” Crowley choked slightly, but pushed on bravely. “It’ll get crushed by a reckless driver, or snatched up by some mangy dog.” He crossed his arms, stopping his rant prematurely. “Not that I care. I just don’t want to share my picnic with it.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I think I’m able to keep an eye on the most reckless driver in London, thank you very much.” He frowned. “But I see your point. Perhaps she _is_ more… fragile, than I have been treating her.” Crowley wondered if his angel’s thousand yard stare held the memory of the late dove he’d shaken from his magician’s sleeve, or if only Crowley’s mind went there. He shivered.

The angel sighed, then walked past Crowley, still cradling the kitten close to his chest. Crowley craned his neck but didn’t move to follow. “What’re you doing?” he called after them.

“Putting her in our room.”

“What!” Crowley stalked after them up the stairs, indignant.

“Well, if she can’t come with us, then she’ll just have to stay here.” The angel plopped her -- _it_ \-- on the carpet in their room. 

“Why can’t you leave her down in the shop?” he argued hardheartedly.

“And come back to see she’s made a mess of my prized collection without my supervision? No, not likely.”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow as the angel turned to face him, closing the bedroom door behind. “Oh, so you agree that it’s a menace?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, my love. You’re very dramatic.” He patted Crowley’s arm gently and started down the stairs. “Are you just about ready?”

“Er,” Crowley started, glancing at the bedroom door. “Actually, I forgot something. Gotta grab it real quick.” He slipped into the bedroom, keeping a wide berth from the creature as he crouched down. It was already tugging at the carpet with its tiny claws.

Crowley miracled up a small bowl of water and a little blue ball of yarn, hoping that it would appease the beast and keep it from destroying their room while they were gone[7]. He lowered his sunglasses, fixing the creature with a stern, serpentine look. “Do _not_ tell him I did this,” he hissed.

“What was that love?” Aziraphale called from downstairs. The angel’s ears really were uncanny at times.

“Just saying I found my phone,” he called, standing up and backing out of the room. He closed the door carefully before he turned around and bumped directly into the angel.

“Christ!” he yelped, hand leaping to his heart as he backed into the door. “I mean, shit! What are you doing up here?”

There was an amused slant to Aziraphale’s smile as he tilted his head. “I thought you might want this, my love.” He had in his hand Crowley’s mobile, which he held out as an unassuming gift.

Crowley patted his empty pockets -- _dammit_ \-- and sheepishly accepted the phone. “Er, thanks.”

Aziraphale tutted a bit, but dropped the subject. “Now, can we go?” He looped his arm around the demon’s, tugging him down the stairs towards the Bentley parked outside.

-

Something occurred to Crowley as he was driving, something that he ought to have asked a while ago.

“Where did you say you got that fleabag from, anyway?”

“Oh. Ah,” Aziraphale started. He was noticeably less put together when hurtling through central London in a big metal box. Currently, he was clinging to the door handle on his left and Crowley’s shoulder on his right[8]. “Well, I don’t believe I did say, did I?” His tone was light in a way that meant he very much intended to keep it that way.

Crowley turned away from the street, focusing all his attention on the angel.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale whined. “The road!”

Crowley lifted his hands from the wheel as though he intended to cross them over his chest and take a nice long nap.

“ _Crow_ ley!” He yelped as they nearly missed a bicyclist. A quick miracle gave her a burst of speed. “Fine, I’ll _tell_ you, just focus on the road, please!”

Mission accomplished, Crowley thought smugly, retaking the helm.

“If you must know…” Aziraphale sighed, straightening the hem of his jumper. “It was Adam.”

“ _Ad_ am?!”

“Yes, yes, I know.” And there it was, the dam was breaking. “I didn’t particularly want a -- what did you call her? A fleabag? -- in my home, either.” He’d removed his hand from Crowley’s shoulder now, but he was waving them around animatedly, so that was alright. “But when the Antichrist shows up at your shop -- it was _closed_ , mind you -- just traipses right in and says, ‘Oh, you’re the Principality Aziraphale, aren’t you, met at the airbase right before I shouted my occult father into non-existence, my mate Buddy’s cat had a litter and we can’t find homes for them all and would it be too much of a bother for you and your boyfriend to take one little kitten, she won’t be any trouble, promise,’--”

 _Boyfriend?_ Crowley mouthed indignantly at the pedestrian scrambling out of the Bentley’s trajectory. He would have thought that their relationship would have come across a little more seriously to humans than _that_.

“-- And even when you say, ‘Oh, now, I’m terribly sorry but there’s really not a place for it, and besides, my _husband_ ’--.”

That was more like it[9].

“--‘Doesn’t care very much for animals, and I myself _may_ have escorted one or two doves to the pearly gates, or wherever birds go--.”

Crowley cut him off there. “Wait. Where _do_ birds go?”

The angel started blankly at the demon, then shrugged helplessly.  Neither knew[10].

“Well, anyway,” Aziraphale huffed. “The point is, we have a cat now, and you’d bloody well get used to it because I am _not_ going to single-handedly care for her simply because I happened to be home when that child decided it was time for some socialization with consequences.” He took a deep breath and dropped his hands onto his lap, apparently exhausted by his long rant. His face did have a slight pink tinge to it, Crowley noted with a smirk.

“Well.” He pulled the Bentley sharply into a newly created parking space on the side of the road[11] and turned to look at his angel. “Guess we’re godfathers again.”

Aziraphale gave him a withering look. Crowley knew from the wrinkles around his eyes, though, that the angel was suppressing a smile.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley said, opening his door. “Let’s picnic. We’ll figure the rest out later.” He walked over to his angel’s side, opened his door, and offered an elbow. Aziraphale took it, smiling slightly at him. As long as they were on the same page, Crowley thought, this would be no problem at all.

**\------**

_Footnotes_

1 He would simply say it was _nicer_ , but nice was a four letter word that he sometimes had a hard time spelling and other times simply didn’t like. Demons were not _nice_. [return to text]

2 Not _Before_ before. Not when Crowley was humming celestial melodies, or whatever. No, simply before the Not End of the World, or, as Crowley like to call it internally, _The Godfather Initiative._ [return to text]

3 If he believed anything at all, mind you. [return to text]

4 Whether Crowley himself could walk properly was certainly up for debate. The way he strutted and wobbled aligned his movements more with _snaking, slinking,_ or _toppling in a forward motion_ than actually walking. [return to text]

5 The chair didn’t dare consider tipping over. [return to text]

6 He had been, with the avid support of Crowley and a few helpful tips from his barber, growing his hair out since the Nope-ocalypse. The slow way, like humans do. Just to see whether he liked it, you understand. He’d had no complaints so far, although Crowley had woken up with a mouthful of hair a couple of nights when he snuggled too close to the angel. It certainly wasn’t going to stop him, although he had begun offering to braid it for Aziraphale whenever the angel agreed to sleeping next to him. Aziraphale found his fingers to be quite skilled and gentle, and did not mind the physical contact in the slightest. [return to text]

7 That’s right. It was purely out of selfishness that he did this. He did not care about the creature’s well-being or assuaging its boredom. This was simply a means to an end, and that end was a not-destroyed bedroom. [return to text]

8 Little did he know, that wasn’t a problem for Crowley. In fact, it encouraged him to put a little more lead on the pedal, in hopes that the angel wouldn’t let go any time soon.[return to text]

9 Of course, they hadn’t done any sort of official paperwork for it, and Crowley would be… er, reverse-damned, before he set foot in another church without some sort of physical threat attached. No, instead, they had bought each other little rings when they went on their long trip a few months after the Uh-Oh-Pocalypse. They’d met so many couples on honeymoon that they realized they more or less were on one, as well. And Aziraphale had just gushed over those rings in the shop window, and Crowley had to admit they were fairly stylish and… well, that was a story for another time.[return to text]

10 That question would keep Crowley awake for the next several nights. There would be no revelations. [return to text]

11 Any area of pavement big enough for a car was a parking space, if you believed hard enough. [return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

Caring for the cat[1] turned out to be a bit of a challenge. A month passed and Crowley had expected her to relax a bit, to take to lounging in sunny windows or something cliche like that, but the cat seemed to have other ideas.

Crowley was currently sprawled across the couch in the flat above the shop, his lanky legs flung over his angel’s lap. Crowley sipped at the tea in his mug. He was mostly enjoying the warmth of it, while Aziraphale’s full mug of cocoa sat chilling on the coffee table.

Crowley tensed slightly as the kitten entered their sanctuary. She circled the coffee table in a low crouch, tail flicking. Her bright eyes were locked on the angel’s mug.

“Don’t even _think_ about it, fleabag,” Crowley growled, sitting up slightly and shooting what he hoped was a piercing look over the rim of his glasses.

The cat spared him the most condescending of glances, then sprung up onto the table.

“Ghaah! Are you even listening to me?”

“Now really, my dear boy,” Aziraphale chided, patting his husband’s knee absently. “I’m at a very interesting part here, so if you wouldn’t mind piping down a bit-”

“But she’s going to…”

The cat was tilting her head now, pupils blown out as she stared the mug down.

“She’s just a tiny thing, what can she really get up to?” Aziraphale huffed, refusing to look up from his book.

And then the tightly coiled best sprang.

In a flash, Crowley snatched up his angel’s mug just before she got to it, looming over her. He put on a frightful, monstrous face and hissed. Instantly, she returned a fearful hiss and scrambled away, tearing from the room with a puffed up tail.

Crowley watched her go in surprise. He’d done that sort of thing to Aziraphale a hundred times in arguments, and the angel never seemed to bat an eye. Next to him, the angel tutted gently.

“She’ll never learn proper manners if you treat her like that,” he said, eyes still focused on the page but a single eyebrow quirking up.

“Proper -- Proper _manners_!” Crowley spat, clinging guiltily to the mug in his hand. “She’s a monster! She’s no concept of _manners_ at all!” He started to pace in a circle around the coffee table. “What, what, you want her to grow up and help little old ladies cross the street? Want her to use her blinker before turning?” He scoffed. “Really, _manners_.”

Aziraphale did finally lift his eyes, just to shoot Crowley a look that said, _Rude_ , and said, “Well, I still think you should go make up with her.”

Crowley gaped. “How’m I meant to _make up_ with a cat?”

“Oh, you’re very clever,” Aziraphale dismissed him, looking back down at his book. “I have total confidence that you’ll figure something out. Now shoo, and let me read in _peace_.”

“I’ll show _you_ peace,” the demon grumbled, but shoved his hands in his pockets and slunk out of the room all the same.

The cat had bolted out of the room towards the main shop, but when Crowley descended the stairs she was nowhere to be seen. He poked his head around shelves, behind the counter that Aziraphale pretended to sell books from, even underneath his own arm chair. She was nowhere to be found.

Crowley shifted his weight from leg to leg, thinking. He considered going back upstairs and claiming he’d found the rascal, but he really did hate lying to his angel[2].

After a long moment he sighed, then started flitting his tongue out and scenting the air. She smelled sort of like the bookshop itself, at this point -- a little dusty and warm[3] \-- but also like the kitten food they’d bought her. Slightly fishy. He followed the smell, crouching down.

Ah. She was hiding under the Transcendentalist section. Owlish yellow eyes stared out at him, the rest of her form entirely hidden by shadow over black fur. He heard a tiny, constant growl. With a little squint and adjusting of his eyes, Crowley could see that she was bristling quite a bit. The thing looked, in a word, terrified.

Crowley sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re just scared, aren’t you?” he mused. “You don’t quite know what you did wrong. You were just exploring, and then you were suddenly just… kicked out of the room.” He took a couple of steps back, then settled down on the ground[4].

“Well, I am… sssorry,” he grumbled, feeling quite stupid for apologizing to a cat. The fact that she couldn’t understand him made it both better and worse, he thought with a dry laugh. She didn’t move, although the growl lessened into a slight rumble under the bookshelf. Words weren’t going to help soothe her nerves.

“Hang on a mo,” he said, getting up. He ducked behind the shop counter and grabbed the bag of treats Adam had brought about a week ago, settling back down. He cracked it open and sniffed it. _Eugh. Fishy._ He pinched a little round piece between his fingers and licked it. It wasn’t half bad, actually.

He shook a couple into his palm then lowered his hand to the ground. “Er, here, kitty kitty?”

A long moment passed. Traffic rumbled just outside the little shop and the tiny creature rumbled underneath the bookcase. Crowley started to feel irritated, and more than a little embarrassed. Before he could storm away, though, a tiny black nose poked into the light, stark white whiskers twitching hesitantly.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be giving you food, right? Not after getting angry, anyway.”

Bit by bit, the kitten crept out of the shadows. She still held her tail out stiffly behind her, but she sniffed at the treats in Crowley’s hand. She seemed interested but unwilling to make the final leap. The fur on her spine bristled as she stared tensely.

Crowley dropped the treats and pulled his hand back into his lap. As soon as he did, the fleabag grabbed on in her mouth and darted back into the darkness. He heard crunching for a few moments, and then the kitten crept back out and ate a second treat without running. After the third treat, her fur had smoothed. She stared at Crowley, tail straight up and slightly crooked at the end.

“Oh, er, I think that’s probably enough treats for now.” Crowley stared at her awkwardly, but she didn’t move away. Instead she circled the demon, tail flicking as she rubbed her head against him.

"Oh. Erm. Well, maybe just one more.” She took this one from his hand, then rubbed her head against his palm.

She really was quite soft.

When she climbed up onto his thigh and settled in, he didn’t shoo her[5]. It would just be too much of a hassle to make up with her a second time, he told himself.

When the demon came back to the sitting room over a half hour later, Aziraphale gave him a knowing look.

“You’ve been gone awhile. How did it go?”

Crowley grunted. “S’fine. She’s a cheeky one.” He threw himself over his angel, this time with his legs on the unoccupied side of the couch and his head settling on the arm rest just past the angel. “I think she’ll fall in line.”

“Hmm,” the angel hummed. He brushed the demon’s hair back, then planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t too much of a challenge for you, you old Serpent,” he whispered.

Crowley held Aziraphale’s bow tie with one hand before he could pull away. “Oh, shut it, you,” he grumbled. The soft kiss he planted on his angel’s lips betrayed the fact that he wasn’t all too upset.

**\-----**

_Footnotes_

1 They still hadn’t picked a name. Crowley called her _fleabag, rat,_ and sometimes, just to spite Adam, _Dog_. Aziraphale called her _dear_ , or more often and with a hint of exasperation, _you!_ [return to text]

2 Lying by omission was a different matter altogether. Briefly suspending the truth to mess with him was also alright.[return to text]

3 He didn’t think that _she_ was warm, mind you. He didn’t _like_ her.[return to text]

4 His pants should have been too tight for the folded position he took, but he believed that they would stretch enough, and so they did.[return to text]

5 How that could be comfortable, Crowley had no idea. He wasn’t exactly soft. The cat didn’t seem to mind. [return to text]


	4. Chapter 4

If you were to observe the demon Crowley closely for the next few months, you might come to the faulty conclusion that he held any sort of affection for the fleabag who’d set up camp in his home.

Perhaps when he affixed the little tartan collar around her neck and rubbed behind her ear, you’d forget that he detested her. Perhaps, after seeing Crowley and the fleabag napping together while Aziraphale puttered about organizing shelves, you’d doubt his repulsion towards her. You might mistake the way the demon and cat seemed to curl into each other as something like trust or pleasant companionship, but you’d be wrong.

No, Crowley most assuredly did _not_ like Pie.

Not the food, the cat. Well, he actually didn’t care for either, but he _really_ didn’t like the cat. His deciding to name her after the cinematic star Pyewacket was in no way a sign of affection. He certainly had not spent a late night with the angel, the cat, and a few bottles of Merlot watching _Bell, Book and Candle [1]._

And even if he had, he _most definitely_ had not pointed to that Siamese on the screen and said, “Now _that’s_ a fleabag I can respect. Wiley little thing.”

And he hadn’t turned to Aziraphale and said, “Wat’cha think? Let’s call her Pie.”

No. None of that -- especially the parts that _didn’t happen,_ thank you very much -- meant that he in any way liked the cat.

Of course, she was rather good for business. Or rather, she was good for slowing business down. Potential customers found themselves entranced by the adorable little black cat with the tartan collar rubbing against their legs. They’d spend their time scratching behind her ears and cooing at her. Before they knew it, the eclectic shopkeep was herding them out the doors, claiming he had to close early and if they could _please_ be so kind as to flip the sign to _Closed_ on their way out, that would be splendid.

(While customers seemed to adore Pie, they weren’t nearly as comfortable with the large red-bellied snake that sometimes lounged lazily in the sunny window. Funnily enough, the snake rarely bothered anyone. It was the cat who would tear through the shop at breakneck speed, careening into customer and shopkeep alike in pursuit of some toy or another with enough force to lay a child flat on their back[2].)

So when the antichrist Adam showed up one day for tea and, after rambling on about his latest story about a convoluted magical something-or-other, Crowley was certainly _not_ disappointed by his proposition.

“There’s this really nice family who just moved in down the street,” he said over his tea. At least he wasn’t speaking around his biscuits anymore. “They’re looking for a pet.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, trying very hard to sound interested in something that had no bearing on him whatsoever. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Adam continued. “I told them I knew a cat they could adopt, if they wanted. They seemed really chuffed about it.”

Aziraphale hummed over his own cup. Crowley stirred his tea, internally making a list of what food he wanted to make for his next picnic with his angel[3].

“So, if you could scoop her up into a carrier or something for me, that’d be wicked.”

“Hmm?” Crowley froze mid sip.

“Well, I didn’t bring one with me,” Adam said, shrugging as he entirely missed the point. “Figured you’d have one I could take. But yeah, just pack her up and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other. Crowley set his tea down with a clink.

“If you think you can just--”

“Hush, love,” Aziraphale said. “Adam,” he continued, turning to face the ex-devourer of souls, “What Crowley and I mean to say is Pie is quite comfortable here. It would be a shame to… to relocate her at this point, wouldn’t it?”

Adam passively took a sip of his tea. Whether it was his occultism or his prepubescence that allowed him to completely ignore the rising tension in the room was impossible to tell. “Yeah, but she’ll be fine. You didn’t really think I was gonna force you to watch some stray for her whole life, did you? Just needed a place to put her until I could find her a _real_ home.”

“This _is_ a real home,” Crowley growled.

Adam shrugged. “I mean, it’s a bookshop, no offence, but I get what you mean. All I’m saying is that--” 

At that moment, Pie trotted into the room from wherever she’d been snoozing in the shop. The three men froze, watching her as she strolled across the room, fluffy black tail shifting after her. Nobody breathed as she approached the couch, or as she dug her claws into the side of the upholstery and scratched. Her back bent as she stretched luxuriously. Three visible pairs of eyes silently watched her as she sprang up, walked across the angel’s lap and, without hesitation, settled down on the demon.

When she was finally all curled up, Adam grinned widely, pulled out his mobile, and snapped a picture of the demon. Crowley sputtered indignantly.

“What was that for? That’s an invasion of privacy!”

“Oh,” Adam said, looking down at his phone and tapping rapidly. “Just had a bet with Brian. He said Cat’d be miserable here and should have stayed with him, but I told him he was full of it.” He looked up brightly. “It was hard enough to convince him to give her up. Glad to see it all worked out.”

Crowley sputtered, but it was Aziraphale who leaned forward slightly.

“Do you mean to say… she was never really in need of a home?”

Adam shrugged. “Nah. She’da stayed with Brian, probably, or maybe Pepper.” He tilted his head. “Just thought she looked a lot like you,” he nodded at Crowley. “Big yellow eyes and all that. Seemed like a sign or something.”

Crowley had no idea what to say to that, and so he said nothing. This was hardly the oddest thing that had happened regarding the angel, the demon, and the Anticrhist, though, so the conversation quickly hopped back into something more pleasant.

Aziraphale and Adam chatted for a bit longer, and eventually his parents came to pick him up. Crowley and Pie slipped upstairs while the three adults had a somewhat awkward but entirely polite conversation at the door[4].

By the time Aziraphale came upstairs, Crowley and Pie were curled up in bed, on the border of sleep[5]. The edge of the bed dipped slightly as Aziraphale sat down.

“Comfortable, darling?” His voice was gentle as he brushed Crowley’s hair back from his face. Warmth bloomed in his chest as his angel planted a kiss between his eyes, right where his glasses usually sat.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “D’be more comfortable if you joined us.” Crowley pressed his forehead against his angel’s thigh.

Aziraphale chuckled, patting his head for a moment. “Right, then.”

Crowley peered through drowsy eyes as Aziraphale stood, changed into his pajamas, and settled into bed. He would be up reading all night, Crowley knew, but he didn’t mind. Crowley scooted until his head was resting on the soft blue pajama pants. Pie followed after him, a bit put off at being woken by a moving heat source, but quickly enough she was purring once more.

Crowley drifted into a pleasant sleepy stupor, relishing in the feeling of Aziraphale’s fingers carding through his hair. If an outside observer were to see this scene, with the demon petting Pie’s head in much the same way that his husband was playing with his, and smiling gently in the warm nest of his family -- Well, you might not be horribly wrong if you thought that they liked the cat, after all.

**\------**

_Footnotes_

1There was romance, there was tempting, there was a magical cat and lots of staring. What wasn’t to love? [return to text]

2 They may have learned this the hard way.[return to text]

3 They had trained Pie to go out on a harness, and now they would occasionally take her with them to St. James’s in a stroller. Aziraphale liked it because it reminded him fondly of Crowley’s nanny days, especially when Crowley wore the dress. Crowley, on the other hand, liked the horrified and confused looks that passed over strangers’ faces when they look into the pram expecting to see a baby and seeing, instead, a rather sharp-toothed cat.[return to text]

4 The Youngs weren’t entirely sure who these men were, but they had the strangest feeling that they ought to know the nice couple and that it would be quite rude to ask for a refresher at this point in their friendship.[return to text]

5 Crowley had shirked his habit of taking week long naps, opting instead to take frequent, short catnaps with Pie. This seemed to suit everyone much better.[return to text]


End file.
